


Moral Compass

by Lokei



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Ambition, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-10
Updated: 2007-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokei/pseuds/Lokei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have never written Norrington fic.  Mr. Gibbs, I feel sullied and unusual. *grin*</p>
    </blockquote>





	Moral Compass

**Author's Note:**

> I have never written Norrington fic. Mr. Gibbs, I feel sullied and unusual. *grin*

_  
“Ah, the dark side of ambition.”_

 _“I prefer to think of it as redemption.”  
_  
\- - - - - -

When Norrington hands over the heart of Davy Jones, thumping it on Beckett’s desk in its sorry canvas bag, sodden and buzzing with flies, all he feels is a dull sort of triumph, the smirk on his face a poor substitute for the smile he used to wear.

When he gets a real bath and a shave for the first time in far too many months, he tries out the smile again, but it sits unfamiliar on a face he’d rather not examine too closely. There are strange shadows in the corners of his eyes, more disturbing than rings of kohl and grime, and he blinks and turns away.

He hears little, and eventually no more about the fate of those he abandoned on Isla Cruces. Stories filtered through to him for the first few months—Turner and Elizabeth survived the attack of the kraken, Sparrow didn’t, various acts of piracy ensued. Last he remembers hearing, they were somewhere off the coast of South America, headed ‘round the tip of the world towards the Far East. The East India Trading Company is thinner along that route—Norrington thinks perhaps Turner has grown less rash than he used to be. But then, Elizabeth seems to have grown more so, so perhaps the scales are still balanced. He hopes so, in a vague way, if only for the sake of Governor Swann.

He was never a courageous man, the Governor, and Norrington still thinks Elizabeth’s mother must have been remarkable to produce a daughter who seems to have so little of her father in her, but even Norrington has sympathy with him now. After all, he himself is no longer the proven soldier who stood unafraid before cannon fire on the parapet and ordered the Governor to safety—the gold braid is back but the proof behind it is hollowed out like an empty bottle, discarded to roll in mocking circles on the deck. How then, can Norrington sneer at a man hunched over like a child that fears a blow, when he bears the same black beast upon his own shoulders, a shadow of his honor that whispers mockeries in his ears in unwary moments? Sometimes the tones are Sparrow’s, sometimes Beckett’s…but worst when they are his own.

Every time he holds his hand out to receive a fresh set of orders, Norrington’s bleached white stock of finest linen twists round his throat as if tightened by a violent hand, such that even the shadows cast by the careful folds are squeezed into razor thinness. The Admiral finds as many reasons as possible to stay far from Port Royal on the days of Beckett’s ever more frequent executions. If he sails far enough, even the whispers are blocked by the sound of the wind and the rustle of his crisp white wig against the collar of his fine new coat. A pity the wind still seems to whistle right through it, chill even on the brightest day.

In all those months while he dreamt of redemption, he had not foreseen so much hemp in it, for others or himself. The stock constricts again and Norrington swallows hard past the sound of a beating heart, and breathes slowly until he can convince himself it is his own, alive and vital and unharmed by a spot of tarnish or two.

He thinks perhaps, there is something he should do, some way he could prevent his life from falling into line with a pirate’s mocking words. A hint of that older smile returns, a sardonic gleam caught in a flash out of a corner of his eye, bright in the shadows.

Surely, there will be something he can do for true redemption—it only requires the opportune moment.


End file.
